CHAPTER 27
KILLING ADOLF HITLER
Shall I shoot? I can get inside the Führer’s headquarters with my revolver. I know where and when the conferences take place. I can get access.
—WERNER VON HAEFTEN TO DIETRICH BONHOEFFER
Frau von Wedemeyer’s concern about Bonhoeffer was not merely his age; it was also his work for the Abwehr. She might even have known of his involvement in the conspiracy. Whatever he was doing was uncertain and dangerous. Drawing an eighteen-year-old girl into a relationship with someone whose future was so uncertain seemed selfish. At any moment he could be arrested or worse. That Frau von Wedemeyer had just lost her husband and son underscored the uncertainty of things. So she agreed to the engagement but stipulated that it not be made public for a period. Bonhoeffer told his parents in February, but besides them and Bethge, it remained a secret.
Maria’s sister, Ruth-Alice von Bismarck, was four years older. She and her husband had similar concerns about the danger of Bonhoeffer’s work and about what seemed like his selfishness in proposing. Didn’t he realize how she might be hurt if he were arrested, imprisoned, or killed? Wasn’t the decent thing to wait, as so many others were doing during these tumultuous times? Indeed, as a result of his part in Operation 7, the Gestapo had already stumbled onto Bonhoeffer’s trail the previous October.
Operation 7 was ultimately successful, but one of its many details caught the Gestapo’s attention when a customs search officer in Prague discovered a currency irregularity leading to Wilhelm Schmidhuber. Schmidhuber was a member of the Abwehr who visited Bonhoeffer at Ettal in December 1940. The Gestapo wasted no time in finding him. He was interrogated about the smuggling of foreign currency abroad, a grave crime during wartime, even if done under the aegis of the Abwehr. Schmidhuber led them to Bonhoeffer’s Catholic friend, Joseph Müller. It was all greatly troubling, especially when Schmidhuber was transferred to the infamous Gestapo prison on Prinz-Albrecht-Strasse in Berlin. He surrendered information implicating Dohnanyi, Oster, and Bonhoeffer. Now it was entirely a race against time. The coup against Hitler and his regime must be launched before the Gestapo made their move and arrested their hated Abwehr rivals.
“Guilt and Freedom”
Bonhoeffer knew he might be arrested and even killed, but he had come to terms with that reality. He had also come to terms with moving forward with marriage under such circumstances, as his letters to Seydel and Sutz show. He saw it as an act of faith in God to step out in freedom and not to cringe from future possibilities.
This thinking also affected his involvement in the conspiracy. In December 1942, he spoke with a church colleague Oskar Hammelsbeck:
Bonhoeffer confided to me that he was actively and responsibly involved in the German resistance against Hitler, following his moral conviction that “the structure of responsible action includes both readiness to accept guilt and freedom” (Ethics, p. 209). “If any man tries to escape guilt in responsibility he detaches himself from the ultimate reality of human existence, and what is more he cuts himself off from the redeeming mystery of Christ’s bearing guilt without sin, and he has no share in the divine justification which lies upon this event” (Ethics, p. 210).
Bonhoeffer knew that to live in fear of incurring “guilt” was itself sinful. God wanted his beloved children to operate out of freedom and joy to do what was right and good, not out of fear of making a mistake. To live in fear and guilt was to be “religious” in the pejorative sense that Bonhoeffer so often talked and preached about. He knew that to act freely could mean inadvertently doing wrong and incurring guilt. In fact, he felt that living this way meant that it was impossible to avoid incurring guilt, but if one wished to live responsibly and fully, one would be willing to do so.
Bonhoeffer’s student Wolf-Dieter Zimmermann remembered an extraordinary evening in November 1942. Bonhoeffer was visiting him and his wife at their small house near Berlin. Also there was Werner von Haeften, the younger brother of Hans-Bernd von Haeften, who had been in Bonhoeffer’s confirmation class in Grunewald two decades earlier. Bonhoeffer visited Hans-Bernd in Copenhagen on his way to Fanø, and Hans-Bernd became part of the conspiracy through the Kreisau Circle. But Werner was more deeply involved: he was adjutant for Stauffenberg, who would lead the July 20, 1944, plot. At Zimmermann’s house, he prodded Bonhoeffer about whether it was permissible to kill Hitler. Zimmermann recalled the conversation:
Werner von Haeften, an old friend of my family, was now a staff lieutenant of the Army High Command. At the beginning he was rather silent, and we did not ask him about his duties in detail. Suddenly he turned to Bonhoeffer and said: “Shall I shoot? I can get inside the Führer’s headquarters with my revolver. I know where and when the conferences take place. I can get access.” These words frightened us all. They had such an explosive effect that at first each of us endeavored to calm the others down. The discussion lasted for many hours. Bonhoeffer explained that the shooting by itself meant nothing: something had to be gained by it, a change of circumstances, of the government. The liquidation of Hitler would in itself be no use; things might even become worse. That, he said, made the work of the resistance so difficult, that the “thereafter” had to be so carefully prepared. Von Haeften, who came from an old officers’ family, was a gentle type, enthusiastic, idealistic, but also a man of Christian convictions who believed in inherited traditions. He was one of Niemöller’s confirmands. Now he suddenly developed enormous energy and was not content with “theoretical” reflections. He kept asking questions, digging more deeply, he saw his chance and wondered whether he should take it. He reiterated that he might be one of the very few who were able to act, to intervene. He did not consider his life of great importance. Bonhoeffer, on the other hand, exhorted him over and over again to be discreet, to plan clearly and then to see all unforeseen complications through. Nothing should be left to chance. At last von Haeften’s questions became direct: “Shall I . . . ? May I . . . ?” Bonhoeffer answered that he could not decide this for him. The risk had to be taken by him, him alone. If he even spoke of guilt in not making use of a chance, there was certainly as much guilt in light-hearted treatment of the situation. No one could ever emerge without guilt from the situation he was in. But then that guilt was always a guilt borne in suffering.
The two men talked for hours. We others only made some marginal comments. No decision was taken. Werner von Haeften returned to his duties without being given any direction. He had to decide for himself. And later, he did decide. As aide-de-camp to Stauffenberg he was one of those who were involved in the abortive attempt on Hitler’s life. He was also one of those who, in the evening of 20th July 1944, were shot in the courtyard of the Army High Command in the Bendlerstrasse. Eye-witnesses tell us that he faced death calmly and bravely.
Operation Flash
In January and February 1943, as the Gestapo gathered information on Bonhoeffer and Dohnanyi, preparations were under way for a coup attempt in March. The Gestapo’s noose was tightening, but if the coup succeeded, everyone’s problems would be over. The code name for this effort was Operation Flash, doubtless because its literally brilliant climax involved the detonation of an explosion aboard Hitler’s plane as it squired its passenger over Minsk.
The principal players were General Friedrich Olbricht, General Henning von Tresckow, and von Tresckow’s aide-de-camp and cousin Fabian von Schlabrendorff, who was married to Maria von Wedemeyer’s cousin Luitgard von Bismarck. Schlabrendorff also figured prominently in the July 20 plot as Stauffenberg’s aide-de-camp. Von Tresckow was Maria’s uncle, and Olbricht had been helpful in getting military exemptions for many Confessing Church pastors.
The plan was for Schlabrendorff to plant a bomb on Hitler’s plane in Smolensk, where he would be on March 13 for a brief visit to the troops on the eastern front. Years later, Schlabrendorff explained that “the semblance of an accident would avoid the political disadvantages of a murder. For in those days Hitler still had many followers who, after such an event, would have put up a strong resistance to our revolt.” As soon as it was confirmed that the Führer’s remains had been properly scattered across Minsk, the generals would launch their coup. Schlabrendorff and Tresckow had experimented with numerous bombs, but in the end the honor of exploding the myth and the man Adolf Hitler fell to an English bomb. The mechanisms and fuses of German bombs made enough noise that they might be discovered. But Schlabrendorff and Tresckow found an English bomb; it was a book-sized plastic explosive with no clockwork and no fuse, hence no ticking or hissing. When Schlabrendorff pressed a certain button, a vial holding a corrosive chemical would be broken. The released chemical would eat away the wire holding back the spring that, once sprung, would strike the detonator cap, which would explode the bomb and then: curtains.
The special explosive was available only to the Abwehr, so Dohnanyi would have to take it via train from Berlin to Smolensk on the Russian front. By then Dohnanyi had recruited Bethge to work for the Abwehr so that he, too, might avoid military service, especially since he was about to marry Dohnanyi’s niece Renate Schleicher. As it happened, Bethge was obliged to borrow Karl Bonhoeffer’s Mercedes to drive Dohnanyi to the night train that would carry him to Russia. Dr. Bonhoeffer had no idea his official physician’s car was being used to transport explosives meant to kill Hitler, nor did Bethge have any idea he was chauffeuring such a thing. He delivered Dohnanyi and the bomb to the station, and Dohnanyi and the bomb made their way to Smolensk.
On the thirteenth Tresckow and Schlabrendorff, in the possession of the bomb, were twice so close to Hitler that they were tempted to explode the bomb prematurely. But in both cases the generals meant to lead the coup were also present, so they adhered to the original plan of getting the bomb onto Hitler’s plane. But how? Meanwhile, they lunched with the Führer. Years later, the well-bred Schlabrendorff recalled the grim spectacle of Hitler at table: “To see Hitler eat was a most disgusting sight. His left hand he placed upon his thigh, while with his right hand he stuffed his food, consisting of all sorts of vegetables, into his mouth. As he did so he did not lift his hand to his mouth, but kept his right arm flat on the table and brought his mouth down to his food.”
As the famously vegetarian Reich leader indecorously bolted his meatless mush, the horrified aristocratic generals around him indulged in polite conversation. During what certainly must have been an exceedingly tense meal, not least because some knew it was the final meal for all those boarding the Führer’s plane, General Tresckow casually asked a favor of his table mate, Lieutenant Colonel Heinz Brandt. Brandt was in Hitler’s entourage, and Tresckow asked whether he would mind taking a gift of brandy to Rastenberg to give to his old friend, General Stieff. Tresckow implied the brandy was payment for a gentlemanly wager. Brandt agreed, and a little while later, just as they headed to the airfield, Schlabrendorff handed Colonel Brandt the package. Just before, he pressed the magic button, presto, setting things in motion, and knowing that approximately one half hour later, somewhere far above the earth, the final buzzer would sound over the Third Reich.
If Hitler did not board the plane soon, it could be embarrassing. But he did board the plane, along with his entourage and Brandt. The counterfeit brandy was placed safely beneath them all, in the cargo hold, and at last the plane took off, accompanied by its detail of fighter planes. They would be the ones to radio the first news of the Führer’s startling demise. All that remained was the agony of waiting.
The extent to which Hitler planned his movements and activities to avoid assassination was impressive. All his meals were prepared by a chef he brought with him wherever he went, and like some ancient despot, he made sure that each dish set before him was first tasted by his personal quack physician, Dr. Theodor Morrell, while Hitler watched. He also wore a fantastically heavy hat. On the sly, Schlabrendorff hefted this fabled chapeau when the generals were meeting at Kluge’s quarters. It was “heavy as a cannon ball,” lined with three and a half pounds of steel. As for Hitler’s plane, it was divided into several compartments. His personal cabin, Schlabrendorff explained, “was armor-plated and had a contrivance for descent by parachute. According to our computation, however, the explosive charge in the bombs was sufficient to blow up the whole plane, including the armored cabin. Even if that should not happen, such essential parts of the plane would be torn off that it was bound to crash.”
For two hours they heard nothing. Then came the impossible news: Hitler landed safely in East Prussia. The attempt had failed. Everyone was too filled with fear to be depressed about the outcome. They knew that the bomb had likely been discovered. But General Tresckow remained calm and coolly telephoned Hitler’s headquarters, asking to speak with Brandt. When Brandt came on the line, Tresckow asked whether the brandy had been delivered to Stieff. It had not. Tresckow explained that he’d given Brandt the wrong package. Would he mind terribly if the next day Schlabrendorff stopped by to exchange it for the right one? As it turned out, he was headed that way on official business.
With great courage, since he had no idea what would greet him when he arrived, Schlabrendorff took a train thither and paid the dreaded visit. No one seemed to know he was there to retrieve an unexploded bomb. All was quite well until Brandt handed him the bomb. Brandt gave the package an inadvertent jerk, nearly causing Schlabrendorff to have a heart attack and to expect a belated and unwelcome ka-boom. But of such there was none. They amiably exchanged packages: Schlabrendorff gave Brandt a package containing actual brandy, and Brandt handed Schlabrendorff the ersatz version.
On the train to Berlin, Schlabrendorff locked the door of his sleeper car and opened the package to see what had gone wrong. Everything had worked perfectly: the vial had been broken; the corrosive liquid had dissolved the wire; the wire had released the spring; the spring had sprung; and the detonator cap had been struck. But the detonator cap had not ignited the explosive. Either it was an extremely rare dud, or the cold in the luggage compartment was to blame. In either case, the mysteriously durable Führer had again escaped death.
Everyone was shattered at the failure, but this feeling was offset by relief that the bomb had not been discovered. It all might have ended far worse. On the morning of March 15, Schlabrendorff showed Dohnanyi and Oster the undetonated bomb. But why cry over spilled milk? They would simply have to try again. Hitler would be in Berlin on the twenty-first, accompanied by Himmler and Göring. The opportunity to send this unholy trio into the next world together was too good to be true. They were rarely together in public, but they were scheduled to attend ceremonies for Heldengedenktag (Heroes’ Memorial Day) at the Zeughaus on Unter den Linden. Then they were to examine captured Soviet weaponry. The conspirators again went to work.
The Overcoat Bombs
But there were difficulties. To begin with, it would have to be a suicide mission. Nonetheless, Major Rudolf-Christoph von Gersdorff on Kluge’s staff bravely volunteered for the honor. He would meet Hitler and his entourage after the ceremony and lead them through the exhibit of captured weaponry. He would carry two bombs in his overcoat, of the same type that had failed to detonate in Hitler’s plane, but the fuses would be shorter. They wanted to rig them with much quicker fuses, but settled for fuses that should take ten minutes. Hitler was supposed to be there for half an hour. Once the fuses were triggered and the vials broken, it would take ten interminable minutes for the wire to be dissolved, releasing the spring. While Gersdorff was telling the Führer about the weaponry, he would know that, minute by minute, he was approaching his own death. The night before, Gersdorff met Schlabrendorff in his room in the Eden Hotel, and Schlabrendorff gave him the bombs. Everything was prepared.
The next day, a Sunday, most of the Bonhoeffer clan was assembled at the Schleicher home at 41 Marienburgerallee. They were rehearsing for their musical performance at the seventy-fifth birthday of Karl Bonhoeffer, ten days hence. They had chosen Walcha’s cantata “Lobe den Herrn” (“Praise the Lord”). Bonhoeffer played piano, Rüdiger Schleicher played violin, and Hans von Dohnanyi was in the choir. It was a terrific act of self-discipline to keep their minds on the music since these three and Christine were aware of what was unfolding six miles away in the Zeughaus. Any moment it would happen or had already happened.
They kept their eyes glued to the clocks; their ears cocked for the ringing of the phone with the call that would change everything and that they would celebrate for the rest of their lives. Dohnanyi’s car was parked at the front door, ready to carry him to where he was needed as soon as he himself knew. The end of the nightmare called the Third Reich was imminent. The tapped phone calls and the shadowing by the Gestapo that had been increasing these past months would end, and they would all turn their great talents and energies to the long and hard but welcome work of restoring their beloved Germany to something of which they might once more be proud.
The large group continued to rehearse, not knowing that the Zeughaus ceremony had been delayed an hour, wondering why the phone did not ring. Gersdorff waited as planned, the bombs in his military overcoat. At last Hitler arrived, gave a short speech, and proceeded to the exhibition with his remoras, Göring, Himmler, General Keitel, and the head of the navy, Admiral Karl Dönitz.
When Hitler approached him, Gersdorff reached inside his coat and pressed the buttons. Now it would happen. The vials were broken, and the acid began to eat away slowly at the wires. Gersdorff greeted the Führer and with extraordinary bravery and discipline began the acting job of a thousand lifetimes, pretending to be concerned with the Russian weaponry and giving the Führer details as they proceeded. But Hitler suddenly decided to end his visit. In a moment he walked out a side door onto Unter den Linden and was gone. What was to have taken half an hour had taken a few minutes. Gersdorff was still wearing an overcoat laden with explosives about to go off. There was no “shut off” switch. The acid was doing its corrosive work, dissolving the metal wire further with every second. As soon as Hitler was gone, Gersdorff rushed into a restroom and ripped the fuses from the two bombs. Instead of dying that afternoon as planned, this brave man lived to 1980. But Hitler had escaped again.
The Bonhoeffer family received no happy phone call that day. And the Gestapo was closing in.
Ten days later, the occasion of Karl Bonhoeffer’s seventy-fifth birthday was grandly celebrated. Though none of them knew it that day, this was the last, magnificent performance the Bonhoeffer family would give. In some ways it was a fitting and crowning moment for the extraordinary family, for whom such performances had been a tradition over the years. In five days their lives would change dramatically. They would never gather like this again.
But here they were now, singing “Praise the Lord.” Everyone was there that day, including their former governess Maria Czeppan and Bethge, who would officially become a member of the family in a month. The only ones missing were the Leibholzes, still in England. But even they managed to make an appearance of sorts, sending a congratulatory telegram through Erwin Sutz.
With exquisite irony, Hitler was represented too. For Karl Bonhoeffer’s lifetime of service to Germany, an official from the Reich’s Ministry of Culture showed up to award him the nation’s coveted Goethe medal. It was presented to him in front of the assemblage, along with a special certificate: “In the name of the German people I bestow on Professor Emeritus Bonhoeffer the Goethe medal for art and science, instituted by the late Reich President Hindenburg. The Führer, Adolf Hitler.”
In five days other representatives of Hitler’s government would come to the house at 43 Marienburgerallee. They would come not to praise anyone, and their arrival would not be expected.